


The 'Naughty Nanny'

by TheTalkingPeanut



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Foretelling Through Gramophone, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), harrassment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 20:14:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20533925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalkingPeanut/pseuds/TheTalkingPeanut
Summary: "Master Warlock, whatever is the problem? Why are you crying?""I can't tell you.""Why ever not?""Because I promised Nanny I wouldn't.""Oh, you can tell your ol' friend, Father Francis now, can't you?""No.""But why?""Because Nanny said she'd switch me if I ever told anyone."-----------------------------------------------------Do not read if easily offended. This is rather dark. You have been warned. (More tags to be added, rating and warnings may change.)





	The 'Naughty Nanny'

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! 
> 
> I've had this idea since June but haven't done anything about it. Now, I'm in the middle of another fic in which its updates are unfortunately rather slow. And there were moments in the latest chapter that I'm working on that my brain would flatline on it, so in order to keep writing I switched to writing this instead. Just so I can keep writing every day, no matter what. And I am.
> 
> So, I don't know how updates will go for this (just warning) because I'll most likely work on this when I'm stumped/strained on my other fic. Which is, rather nice :)
> 
> Btw, ratings on this may change and more tags could be added. Just wanted to WARN YOU. Anywho, enjoy <3

Aziraphale had never worked for an American Ambassador before. Had no idea what he would be getting himself into. He knew there would be diplomatic secretive servicemen - or whatever they call them now - hanging about, possibly armed guardsmen, and enough security to build an empire.

Well, all right. Maybe not _ that  _ much security. But quite a bit. Enough to scare onlookers then.

Or so he imagined it would be. He really didn't know how it worked concerning modern Ambassadors. Or what went on in that house. And he wasn't sure if he wanted to get all that acquainted with the inhabitants to find out. The child was the mission, and he figured he could serve his part of the agreement perfectly well outside the structure. 

And he did. As a gardener. An old, unassuming monk of a man. With bushy sideburns (yes, he rather liked that part. And the teeth. Very proud of those.) with just a hint of too much sun. A gentle soul, who would lead the boy to love all things and never hide a secret under the sky. 

Yes, this would be an acceptable choice to settle into for the years to come. And if not? Well… he would just have to make the best of it. Because the fate of the world depended on him. (Them. Well, really _ him. _ ) Therefore, come Hell or high water -  _ good Heavens _ \- he was going to see it through.

He knew Crowley would work nefariously on the inside as a Nanny. Teach the boy the evil wiles of the world, and how to achieve it with ill-gotten gains. Not to mention covering the rest of the grounds that Aziraphale could not reach. (Or, more correctly, where he didn't want to go.) All angles accounted for.

One working on the inside, one on the outside. Almost like a game.

Perfect. What could go wrong?

*

Things were going wrong.

Not with his outfit or the gardening bit, that he was handling just fine. And  _ certainly _ not with the boy. He was a smart, lovely little tot. Sharp ears and a keen sense of smell. 

The parents weren’t the problem, either. Mr. - whenever he was there - and Mrs. Dowling were polite enough. A snitch harder to please the Missus in 'flower arranging' from time-to-time, but all-around good people.

But something  _ was _ wrong. However, Aziraphale never saw a thing out of the ordinary. He and Crowley would each go to work in their own way, do whatever they could in a day to influence young Warlock, be top-notch on the job, then go home. They agreed to update their respective circles bi-annually on the progress of the child, but only if they remembered to do so. (Or more accurately cared to.) 

It appeared it was going just the way they had planned it. And for his part, Aziraphale’s outside duties were sunshine and rainbows. Calm and easy. Comforting and wholesome surrounded by nature of a splendid type. How was he to know anything was amiss?

It wasn't until Warlock began to ask him suspicious questions, that Aziraphale readily took notice that there was,  _ indeed, _ something rotten at the Dowlings' household. 

***~~~***

It started on a Tuesday. Aziraphale was well into making his rounds about the yard and had now turned his attention to a string of hedges that threatened to no longer be level with the rest of them. A wild branch sticking out here, a cluster over there. Some managed to get themselves tangled. He tested his well-oiled shears in front of him by cleaving it a few times, then turned them to the closest straggler. 

“I’m very sorry for what I’m about to do, little branch,” he said in a gentle tone, a tinge of sadness in his blue eyes, forgetting himself and dropping the thick accent, “To all of you, really. Normally I’d never dream of hurting anything, and I know I say this every time we go through this but--” Aziraphale huffs a sigh, “I  _ must _ do this in order to keep up my job. So, please understand I mean well. But I won’t go about it until I have your permission, yes?”

He smiles and stares expectantly at the somewhat shabby bush. He doesn’t move or blink, but waits. A light breeze rustles the branches in a lazy way. Birds chirp merrily in the background.

“Any time now would be lovely. I only need a signal.” It comes out a tad strained.

“Who’re you talking to?”

A high-pitched yip burst forth from Aziraphale’s throat. He did an uncoordinated little jump and spun around to face the sudden voice. A hand clasped over his heart, sheers dropped to the earth. 

Young Warlock Dowling stood before him, not yet six years old. His large searching eyes dancing with giggles as he watched the old funny man jump about. A row of baby teeth stuck out just under his top lip as he bit down on the bottom. 

“Oh! Master Warlock! You scared the Dickens out of me,” Aziraphale breathed with a laugh - accent miraculously returned - his shoulders visibly relaxed, “I ne’er heard you run up here, you little scamp!”

Warlock tucked his hands behind his back and rotated on the spot. A mischievous smile breaking over his dimpled face.

Aziraphale gave him a side glance then leaned in and waggled his finger at him with no malice whatsoever. “You know, it’s not right or proper to sneak up on someone when they don’t know you’re there. Why I nearly jumped out of my skin!”

The boy froze. His mouth hung open with eyes wide. “Really?”

“Mmhmm. And you don’t want Brother Francis to get cold now, do you?” 

Warlock shook his head, his jaw hanging loose.

Aziraphale slowly nodded. “Good. That’s very kind of you, Master Warlock. Always think of others.” He straightened up, “Now then. What was it you asked me, Young Master?”

“I wanted to know who you were talking to.”

“Just the plants, little one.” He gestured to one of the hedges. “They can hear, you know. And they have feelings as well. So out of respect, I was asking them for permission before I started to trim them down to make them all better.”

The young ‘Antichrist’ approached the greenery and reached out to touch a branch. “You can make them better?”

“Of course, Master Warlock. That is my sole purpose here. To make all that you see better and stronger and find its way.” He gave the boy one of his goofy smiles - thanks to the face altering teeth - then bent down and picked up the trimmers. He took a few steps away from Warlock for safety reasons then began clipping. He hummed a merry tune along with it.

Some seconds went by with only the sounds of birds, humming, and trimming filling the air.

“Brother Francis?” Warlock squeaked.

“Hmm?”

“Can you help make Nanny better?”

The sheers froze in mid-movement. A shiver went down his spine that cut off his humming. He stared intensely at the blades before him, watching how the sun reflected off the surfaces of their teeth while his mind replayed and analyzed the question before him.

“Beg pardon? Make who better?”

“Nanny. She’s been very sad lately and I want to help her but she says it’s none of my concern.”

Aziraphale turned with worried eyes to the child. He let the trimmers hang loose in one hand and took two steps closer. “Your Nanny is sad?”

“Uh-huh,” Warlock continues to fiddle with a branch, petting each leaf on it. 

Something sinks in Aziraphale’s stomach. “Why is she sad?” Crowley never said anything to him about distress.

Warlock shrugs, “I dunno. She says it’s not my business.” The child frowns and turns to the gardener. “What does ‘lascivious’ mean?”

_ “There you are!” _

Storming towards them from across the yard, all clad in tight black with sunglasses and umbrella, came Crowley dressed as Nanny Ashtoreth. She did not seem pleased. “I’ve been looking all over for you - I brought you out here for a stretch not to run off and do as you please!” 

Warlock ran a few paces to meet her halfway. When he stood in front of her she put a gloved hand on his shoulder and bent down, “What have I said? When we’re out and about, you stay with  _ me always. _ Except…” She held up a finger and waited.

Warlock played with his fingers as he thought over the answer. “When I’m out playing in the backyard?”

“And within my eyesight, correct. Always stay where _ I can see you.” _ She stood to her full height and gently placed a hand over his hair and pet him. “Come along now, Young Warlock. It’s time for lunch.”

As they walked away, Warlock turned quick, waved and said  _ ‘bye’ _ to Brother Francis. Crowley continued forward and said nothing. Not even a glance in Aziraphale’s direction. She never acknowledged him once in that entire discussion, even though they were still within earshot.

Aziraphale watched their retreating forms till they disappeared into the house. For the rest of the day, he felt sick and couldn’t get himself to cut any more of the plants. He was sure he’d have the strength to do it tomorrow. 

For everything will be better tomorrow. Today is just one of those days.

Children say the darndest things.

**Author's Note:**

> So there's the first installment. Like I said, the rating could change. 
> 
> Let me know what you thought, even though it's slight :)


End file.
